


The Beginning of the Hive

by Camfield



Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Egg Laying, M/M, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-19
Updated: 2014-03-19
Packaged: 2018-01-16 06:51:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1336105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Camfield/pseuds/Camfield
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He's full of eggs, unhappy about it, and has an Insecticon who won't leave  him alone. Primus frag everything.</p><p>Maybe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Beginning of the Hive

Bob chirred as he nudged up against Sunstreaker. Enjoying the warmth, but more than that, chuffing worryingly. Master-mate was making hurt noises, and that didn’t make Bob happy.

Sunstreaker curled up on his side, feeling the press of eggs in his gestation chamber and groaning as the pressed against the closed gate. They’d been shifting inside of him or days, but now they pressed insistently, sending shooting spurs of pain through both his valve and tank.

He shoved at Bob, pushing him away and groaning again. 

The Insecticon wanted nothing to do with being pushed away and he rumbled his displeasure. Coming back to paw at Sunstreaker’s swollen gestation tank gently, nudging it with his mask. Whine.

One egg pressed against the gate and the golden mech vented sharply in pain, “Frag it Bob! Stop!” 

But Bob whined again, one of his smaller servos pawing at Sunstreaker, trying to get him to move. Bob knew! He knew what master-mate needed! Master-mate just wasn’t in the right position, and he was trying to help.

Sunstreaker felt the egg press against the gate, still not getting through, and the pain finally just made him roll over onto his knees, just to stop Bob from pawing at him. “Happy?” 

He groaned it out, pressing his face against the floor and welcoming the cool metal against his faceplates. 

Bob chirred encouragingly and nuzzled Sunstreaker’s thigh, one large servo patting him and his face snuffing against the mech’s panel. Open, Master-mate! You can’t lay eggs if you don’t have the path open. The smaller servos petting against it, his long glossa sneaking out to lap at the panel seams. Bob helps, Bob helps Master-mate feel better.

The position gave just enough room for the first egg to squeeze out of his gestation chamber and into his valve. Calipers moving it downward, edging it inch by inch as Sunstreaker fought the whole process. Not that it mattered, not now, but he was already out of his depth and this was the last resort he could engage in. Holding everything back, even when his frame forced it forward. A kind of pain that reminded him of things he shouldn’t have, things he didn’t deserve.

Bob licked him again, trying his hardest to coax Master-mate’s panel open. Whining and chirring, didn’t Master-mate want the eggs out? Safe in the nest? 

The licks did edge through the pain, though, and he couldn’t fight both the eggs descending and his reaction to Bob’s attentions. Not when he’d spend orns responding to them.

His panel opened and Sunstreaker slammed his hand against the floor, venting heavily. The egg poking out and with a sensation of pressure, sliding from his valve into Bob’s waiting servo. 

With a trill, Bob slid open his mask to lick the egg clean, rubbing his scent on it and setting it aside safely. Helm turning and optics focusing in on Sunstreaker to wait for the next one. Tiny laps and licks to his valve rim to soothe him. Master-mate was doing good! All good, many eggs. Big nest!

A second pressed through, and the gate finally gave in and irised wider to let them through more easily. His frame settling into a rhythm that Sunstreaker got lost to. The pass of eggs through the gate, the glide and pressure against valve rim and the relief when they made it through and into Bob’s waiting servo. The licks edging further inside each time, and soon enough Sunstreaker couldn’t help the moans that were stifled against his arm. Legs spreading just a little more, the pass of eggs becoming pleasurable instead of painful.

Bob kept stroking and nuzzling, the telltale scent of lubricant making him purr. Yes, Master-mate was doing good, and finally enjoying eggs. Soon nest would be full, and Master-mate would be able to mate again.

The final egg almost came as a disappointment, Sunstreaker aroused and lubricating so much that the final egg came out painted purple. The insecticon gathered all the eggs, tucking them into compartments in his frame for safekeeping, wiggling happily at the thought of a hive. Snuffing back at Sunstreaker’s valve, glossa slipping inside to gather more of his Master-mate’s scent, his taste.

Sunstreaker was sore, but he wasn’t sure if that meant he didn’t want Bob’s attentions either. The glossa against his valve mesh was almost soothing, and he vented and pushed back against it. “You win, you pushy thing.”

A grumblegrowl was his answer, and Bob busied himself with cleaning his Master-mate in as much of a tender manner as he was capable. Until the overload that rocked him crested out in soft waves and Sunstreaker finally collapsed to the floor, Bob curling up beside his helm and purrrumbling his pleasure for both eggs and hive.


End file.
